


Surprise Exhibit

by Entity_Sylvir



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward situations, Desk Sex, M/M, Office Sex, unfortunately timed nakedness, unfortunately timed rain, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 09:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entity_Sylvir/pseuds/Entity_Sylvir
Summary: His hand was on the cupboard handle when the door opened. Damen froze, motionless for a moment before his other reflexes kicked in to spin him around. Just a cleaner, probably, went his racing mind in that split second whirl of panic. They’d have a bit of awkwardness, a bit of a laugh, and take away a funny story to tell their colleagues later. They’d understand.But no. He should have known. There was only one person who ever barged into his office like that without knocking.“Damianos, I saw you come in. I need you to—”-Damen has a bad morning. Which gets worse. Then much better.





	Surprise Exhibit

The museum was either a twenty-minute walk or two stops on the subway from Damen’s apartment, which meant he usually walked since Veretian subway passes were significantly overpriced in his opinion. Of course, this morning it meant he was still fifteen minutes away when the downpour came.

The first drops of water on his cheek sent him sidestepping over to the line of buildings by the footpath. He was shuffling somewhat awkwardly along, half turned sideways and hiding as best he could under the tiny roof overhangs, when it rose in about two minutes flat to pelting rain. When the wind picked up he gave up his meagre shelter for wrapping his jacket around himself and sprinting, weaving between the lines of loping people doing the same as they clutched at hats or briefcases or bucking umbrellas. By the time he’d realised he’d passed the entrance to the last subway station he decided he might as run the whole way.

The rain, and the ringing patter of it drilling against the ground, was abundantly evident from the inside of the building when he finally made it through the museum’s front doors. Which meant the security guards didn’t have to stare at him quite so hard for looking like a drowned shaggy dog, really. It’s not like there were guests here to see him yet anyway. But, thankfully he didn’t have anything in his pocket but his keys and wallet and phone, which was one of those new waterproof models, and his ID card was still fully legible despite being a little soggy. As soon as they let him past he made a beeline straight for his own small office, trailing water behind on the tiles like a snail who’d just had a shower.

The admin block where he worked was actually separate from the main exhibit wings, across the outdoor gardens so he had to walk outside again to get there. Of course, it was just his luck that by the time he stepped out a second time the rain had stopped. Completely. The sun was even starting to come out. Sighing to himself, Damen tried to pick the path across the lawn that involved the least amount of squelching through mud.

The admin block seemed mostly—if not completely—empty when he pushed his way wetly through the doors, which was usual given his habit of making an early start of things. Unlike the main building it was carpeted, which meant here he left a nice distinct trail of dark footprints toward the office tucked right at the back. His wasn’t the most glamorous workspace, but he didn’t mind too much. The museum here at Chastillon wasn’t as large as the cultural center he worked for back in Delpha. They’d been short on space when he’d arrived and he’d been happy to take whatever was available while on his exchange program. It was quiet, at any rate. And cozy.

And cool too, today, with its lack of central heating system. It was only autumn, not close yet to the worst of Veretian weather but Damen was starting to shiver as he turned the cold metal knob on his door. His jacket was completely drenched, as was most of his shirt underneath, and everything else for that matter. His sneakers would dry out okay, but his waterlogged jeans were making it increasingly awkward to walk. He shut the door behind him with a sharp snap and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached for his fly.

He kept a suit in the side cupboard for when he was asked to give tours or presentations to guests, the staff given leave to dress casually the rest of the time. He was pretty sure the admin block was empty and its bathroom had been out of order for the last week. He’d have to head back to the main building for a changing room, and he really didn’t relish any more walking in these jeans.

Grimacing, he peeled off the sodden denim like the skin off an unripe banana, hopping awkwardly from one leg to the other when he realised that he’d forgotten to take off his shoes. Those he yanked off without undoing the laces, dropping them clunkily to the carpet where they bounced once or twice and dislodged a few drops of water. His socks came off with the jeans, finally,  _ finally _ , lost somewhere in the tangled legs that he also let fall unceremoniously to the ground. Next went his jacket, and then his T-shirt. Even his boxers were blotted with soaked-through spots, and he reached up to tug those off too to complete the pile of discarded clothing. Wasn’t there someone who said that commando was the way to go with properly-cut dress pants, anyway?

Freed, Damen gave a small sigh of relief. He shifted a few times from foot to foot, stretching out his knees, and then spent a little while rubbing the circulation back into his cold limbs. The air still wasn’t warm, but it was better out of his wet things at least. Giving a toss of his head in an attempt to fling the sopping hair from his face, and then running a hand back through it when that didn’t quite succeed, he began to pad his way toward his cupboard. He hoped the tissue box on his desk had enough left to wring out his hair with else he’d be dripping over his translation guide

His hand was on the cupboard handle when the door opened.

Damen froze, motionless for a moment before his other reflexes kicked in to spin him around. Just a cleaner, probably, went his racing mind in that split second whirl of panic. They’d have a bit of awkwardness, a bit of a laugh, and take away a funny story to tell their colleagues later. They’d understand.

But no. He should have known. There was only one person who ever barged into his office like that without knocking.

“Damianos, I saw you come in. I need you to—”

Laurent broke off in the middle of his sentence.

It was possibly the first time Damen had ever seen him lost for words.

After a second, the other man very deliberately shut his open mouth.

Laurent was one of the members on the museum board, and the director of the classical department which made him Damen’s direct superior. He was possibly also the second most scary human being Damen had ever met (the first being his stepmother—in the best possible way since he rather adored Hypermenestra), wrapped up in a cutting, unimpressed, and perfectly styled package. Damen winced, hard. And internally, because his muscles had abruptly decided that freezing again was the way to go after he’d recognised that familiar blond head. He braced himself for a biting lecture about shocking conduct and propriety in the workplace, and hoped he wasn’t about to be sent back to Akielos in disgrace.

Laurent stayed silent. His eyes seemed to drop automatically, taking in the full line of Damen’s body. Unavoidable, probably. There was rather a lot of him. They took their time, though, lingering a disconcertingly long time on his crotch. Damen fought the urge to cover himself like an embarrassed schoolboy, feeling more than a little judged. It was cold, okay. Even he had to deal with shrinkage.

“I’m sorry,” Damen said, when he couldn’t take the tension any longer. “I just—I got wet.”

Laurent still didn’t say anything, but he did look back up toward Damen’s face. Damen trailed off, losing steam as he met those cool blue eyes.

Still holding their gazes together, Laurent moved forward, polished leather shoe stepping right on top of the pile of wet clothing on the way. With an idle hand he pushed the door shut behind him. The thump as it met the frame sounded about as loud in the small room as Damen’s heartbeat.

There was something, maybe, in Laurent’s eyes. But Damen wasn’t sure what. He’d never quite managed to work out how to read the man.

Laurent said finally, softly, his fine Veretian rolling delicately off his tongue, “I can see that.”

Damen took a second to remember what the words were in reply to. Yes, the other man must rather be able to see it. Especially since right about then, Damen could feel a droplet of water sliding from his hair down the side of his neck, winding its way forward to his bare chest. The way Laurent’s eyes fell away again, moving to follow the path of that movement, he’d noticed it too.

Another step, and the man was close enough to touch him. He did. Smoothly, Laurent raised one hand to brush away the droplet with the pad of his thumb, skin warm against Damen’s. A single light swipe at first, a moment before he laid down his palm flat. Cupping the curve of Damen’s pectoral.

Damen felt like he could barely breathe, mind caught right between the two sides of a skipping record. Was what he thought might be happening really—no, it couldn’t be, he couldn’t, he’d never let himself think of his superior like that—though been a little tempted to on more than one occasion—no, _no_.

Slightly hysterically, he blurted, “Does this count as sexual harassment?”

Laurent looked up. His hand didn’t move from Damen’s chest as he arched one single pale brow. “Technically, you exposed yourself to me. That's harassment on your part first.”

“Right.” Damen nodded, very properly. “Probably shouldn’t try to sue you then.”

“Oh you’re welcome to try.”

The words were quiet, lilting. Said there into the space between them, they drew Damen’s thoughts to trying things quite far from anything involving a courtroom. He swallowed, intent blue eyes following the movement of his throat as he did before moving lower once more and  _ oh, _ up close there was no doubt now that they were tracing the swell of his muscles, the width of his biceps, his thighs.

Damen was starting to react. He couldn’t help it, under that burning gaze. From  _ Laurent _ , no less, Laurent who ordered him around a library like a horsebreaker commanding his stallion, who went over every word of his work with the scrutiny of an operating surgeon and sometimes, if he deserved it, commended him on a job well done. Laurent who had a surprisingly sweet smile when he used it, and a pretty cute arse which Damen definitely never noticed because that would have been entirely inappropriate and also probably would have gotten him his balls cut off if he’d been caught looking.

Or at least so he’d thought. Until now.

“You know,” he said carefully after another few moments of silence, and very deliberately wandering eyes. “I’m feeling a little objectified here.”

“Mm.” The hand on his pectoral moved, sliding across his chest, then over to grasp his bicep. Slim fingers tightened, giving him a solid squeeze. “Yes. You are.”

Damen bit the inside of his cheek. “Should I,” he began, because he had to, and reached out vaguely with his other arm toward the suit he’d been making for before the interruption. Without even looking, Laurent caught it.

“No.”

The same time as that first hand slid again, even lower, much lower, to close in a firm grip around the part of Damen’s body most vying for attention, Laurent kissed him.

Damen gasped as much in shock as in pleasure, lips parting automatically in a movement that was promptly taken advantage of. The other man tasted of rainwater from Damen’s own lips, and something spiced that Damen recognised with some surprise as Akielon coffee. If he’d ever let himself imagine kissing Laurent he probably would have supposed it’d be something akin to licking an ice cube—cold, hard, unyielding. This wasn’t like that.

Neither was it hot, precisely. Nor yielding. Instead, the man’s mouth felt almost fluid against his. Moving with a firm, insistent precision that was mirrored in the motion of the hand on him below—not stroking exactly but shifting in small tugs, squeezing gently and releasing in irregular intervals that kept him from falling into a pattern of expectation. Deftly teasing him toward full hardness.

Damen’s mind was still skipping, part of it lost to the sudden swell of pleasure but the rest flailing, failing utterly to comprehend what was happening. That he was standing naked in his office being kissed, being touched by  _ Laurent _ who was—who was backing the two of them up until the back of Damen’s thighs hit the edge of his desk and he sat reflexively, pretty sure that that was a Middle-Period Patran dictionary under his left buttock. Even like this he wasn’t sure he dared to think it. That this—that what he thought was happening was really about to happen. Because that was impossible. That was crazy. That was—

“The door’s locked,” Laurent said into his mouth, other hand still roaming his shoulder, his torso, like a man feeling the weave of a fine rug.

“No it isn’t,” Damen replied automatically. “The temporary office spaces doesn’t have locks on the doors.” If they did he would have locked it. And then he wouldn’t have been here right now.

Laurent smirked, like Damen had said something amusing. Then stated, “The rest of the admin block is empty and the main staff saw me walk down to see you. No one would disturb me in a meeting.”

“Right.”

In a moment, something inside Damen clicked as his brain promptly decided to give up panicking in favour of going with it.

In one smooth motion he stood and tucked one arm around Laurent’s waist, reversing their positions. The other man grunted softly as his legs hit the desk, snapping his teeth and nipping Damen’s lower lip seemingly in retaliation. The movement had dislodged his hand and so Damen leant forward, grinding himself against a trousered hip. Arms came up around his shoulders, fingertips digging in for a moment as Laurent caught his balance, then meandering their way downward, tracing the definition of the muscles in his back.

“These pants are expensive,” came the words half-hissed again against his lips. 

“That’s your problem,” Damen murmured in reply, before shutting the man up once more.

Laurent made a sound that was almost a growl, letting go and leaning back best he could with the desk in the way, putting some space between them so that he could reach down to undo his fly. Damen took a shuffling step away, giving the man just enough room to yank down his trousers before he pressed their bodies together again. Laurent wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Really was better for the pant line then, maybe.

Letting out a groan at the feel of skin against skin, Damen reached blindly up to push Laurent’s jacket from his shoulders. The man bent his arms, helping, allowing the well-cut blazer to be dragged off and flung somewhere to the side. Damen gave a try for the buttons of the probably also expensive shirt, got two undone, and then gave up again.

“Here.” Damen pulled back, gesturing at the top right-hand drawer of the desk that opened to the opposite side that they were on. “In there.”

Laurent raised a brow, and leant again to reach back and pull the drawer out. Then raised the other brow too as he came forward with a half-full tube of hand lotion. Quite high.

“I work with old documents. I wash my hands a lot,” Damen said, more than a little defensively. “It gets drying, especially in the cold weather.”

Laurent didn’t say anything, still, but those eyebrows were very expressive. And impressive. Even as he lounged half-naked against a desk, said half-nakedness revealing how prominently affected he was by the situation.

Damen added slightly dumbly, “It’s unscented.”

The corners of Laurent’s mouth—red, kiss-swollen and slick—began to curve again. Damen tugged the man in before it could reach a second smirk, grabbing him about the waist again and putting in a touch of strength to half lift him from the ground and spin him in place. He ducked in to nip at the side of the Laurent’s neck as he pushed him front first into the desk, flicking his long ponytail away over his opposite shoulder. Laurent arched, stretching into the touch like a preening cat as Damen sucked hard a moment, not quite enough to leave a mark, then eased up to trace over the area with his tongue. Lax fingers didn’t resist when Damen plucked the lotion from them. As he closed his own hand around the cool plastic tube, though, he hesitated.

“Wait,” he said. “I don't have anything. Do you—”

Laurent twisted his neck to look back over his shoulder. His pupils were blown wide, breath audible from his parted lips as he caught Damen's eye. His dress shirt was rumpled, falling unevenly to reveal the curve of a collarbone, a few short tufts of blond hair framing his face where they'd escaped from their tie. He blinked once.

“Do it.”

The line of his back was long and lean as he braced himself over Damen’s desk on his elbows, shirt hem riding up the smooth skin of his lower back. His right wrist knocked against a pencil and sent it rolling off the edge onto the floor. Damen breathed out through his mouth, pulse quickening, the click of the opening tube cap following the echo of that brisk clatter.

He ran his free hand down the back of Laurent’s right thigh, brushing lightly as the man shifted to spread his legs. He curled his fingers, scratching briefly with his nails, and being rewarded by a single twitch of bent hips before he pulled back. The lotion was cool as he squeezed it over his own skin.

He heard Laurent sigh in a low exhale as he pressed in his first finger, sliding against resistance a few times in and out to spread the lotion properly, adding another dollop before joining it with a second. The man wasn’t very responsive, quiet and still, though body obviously relaxed. Posture invitingly open. Damen found himself relishing the few soft hitches he did elicit, taking a simmering pride in the low heavy breaths.

At three fingers, he set the tube on the desktop and took half a step closer to put his left hand back on Laurent, reaching around to stroke him as he began to gently roll his other wrist in a more precise fashion, seeking the right angle and the right place to press. He found it in the sudden sharper arch of the man’s back, the rewarding twitch in his palm and around his digits. He tightened and sped his left, movements growing more purposeful, coaxing, until he was finally interrupted.

“I thought I said do it.”

Damen huffed and stilled both hands. Pulling back gingerly—probably too gingerly if he were to ask Laurent’s opinion—he picked the lotion up to squeeze out a last generous portion, teeth pinching his own lower lip as he applied it to himself. Then he laid the tube down again and leant forward, resting his right palm halfway down Laurent’s back as he lined up. Probably leaving a greased hand-print on the rumpled folds of that expensive shirt.

Laurent’s head was bowed, slightly loosened ponytail falling over his shoulder, face downward so as to be out of sight from Damen’s angle. He remained quiet as Damen began to ease himself in, betraying almost no outward response even as his body tightened momentarily in instinctive rejection before he relaxed. Damen took his time, moving slowly and preparing himself to stop if needed, feeling for any tension in Laurent’s back under his hand that would speak of true pain. The man stayed lax, though. That unflappable reserve of his apparently not deserting him even now. When Damen paused at the completion of his first push, he received two seconds of silence before it was broken by a crisp sound of impatience.

Deciding smartly to avoid being reprimanded again, he started to move. Tight rolls of his hips at first, settling into an uneven pattern, chasing his own pleasure in that hot and slick, delightfully snug squeeze at the same time as he searched for the best way to break that persistent composure. The height difference between the two of them meant he had some leverage to angle his thrusts downward. Bracing his other hand on the flat of the desk surface, he set about educating himself on how Laurent preferred it, hard or fast or steady.

He read his answers best he could from the growing hums of appreciation. The little utterances of frustration too, throaty demanding sounds which were steadily turning more breathy and less pronounced. Hard it was, apparently. But not too fast or rough. Deliberate.

Damen tipped back his head, letting his lips part in a low pant as he lost himself in the rhythm, compromising on a pace that coiled the building tension in his abdomen and drew gradually but inexorably louder gasps from Laurent. Blindly, he dragged down the hand he had on Laurent’s back and pushed up the fine shirt fabric to rub at bare skin, scraping a deliberate line with his nails before settling to rest. Feeling the small tremors in the body beneath him.

“Stop.”

Laurent’s voice was quiet but sharp. Damen stilled immediately, eyes snapping back open where they’d been drifting shut. Uncertainty flashed through his mind, whether he’d something wrong, if Laurent was deciding this was enough and was about to pull up his pants and walk his prim way out of the office—

The words came again. “I want to see you.”

Damen exhaled, and licked his lips. “Okay.”

He pulled out cautiously, wincing slightly at the touch of cool air. When he stepped away, Laurent straightened then turned, one hand coming up to run over Damen’s chest while he balanced his weight with the other as he shifted back to sit on the desktop. He tugged Damen down for a kiss, wet and devouring, before tipping himself to lie down flat across the—thankfully empty of anything fragile—centre of the desk. Damen caught his legs as they came up, moving back further to unlace and remove those well-shined shoes before finally pulling the fashionable trousers the rest of the way off. He curled each hand around a slender ankle, spreading Laurent’s legs wide as he stepped in between them, enjoying the look of him lying like that, exposed and open, and yet still managing a haughty look on his face. His eyes weren’t on Damen’s, having fallen again to his torso, gaze positively dripping appreciation. He looked very much like a man proud of what he’d done to get here.

The idea had been a good one. Like this, Damen could see what he had missed before as Laurent reached down to guide him back in with firm fingers. Namely the way that the aloof, intimidating, imperious man’s face went slack, unmistakable pleasure contorting his fine-boned features as Damen restarted his movements. After a moment he lifted one ankle to rest over his shoulder and pitched his weight forward, letting it go to brace that arm by the side of Laurent’s hip. Fingers came up again to trace the corded lines of his shoulders, thumbing briefly at his nipples before dropping to stroke his tightening stomach, sliding around his back then down his flanks. Coming to rest gently over his buttocks, over the muscles that were tensing and untensing with each snap of his hips.

Laurent wasn’t so quiet now. His chest was heaving as he gasped through low moans, peppered with the periodic keener cry, sweat dampening the white shirt open at his throat. They lasted a little while like that, moving together to the thumping of shifting wooden legs, before Laurent pulled his arm back to reach for himself, tending his own pleasure. Blue eyes slipped shut as he sought his finish.

Damen felt it at the same time he saw it, the sudden clench of Laurent’s body as he arched and spilled over his fingers, breathy cry coming a good second later when his throat finally released itself from that frozen moment of ecstasy. Damen’s own raw groan joined it, rhythm faltering a touch before he picked it up again, faster, drawing another cry from Laurent before he jerked to a stop as his own climax hit, growling in a shuddering rumble. His knees shook, his fingers curled into the wood under his palms.

When the white-hot wave passed, Damen came back to normal senses in stages. Slowly, he straightened to drop his weight back onto his heels, eyes still squeezed shut as he pulled out with a short shiver from them both. He took a few breaths, making sure he had enough balance back before stepping away to let Laurent drop his legs. Laurent’s own eyes were still closed, his expression blissfully serene. There was a beat of stillness.

Suddenly not knowing what to do, Damen turned away. He wasn’t sure what this was supposed to be, if it was one of those things that they’d never talk about again or if Laurent was the kind of man to develop some strange complex about what he’d done. After a moment’s hesitation, Damen took the few steps to the cupboard and at last pulled out the suit inside.

By the time he turned back around with it, Laurent was levering himself up while running a wad of tissues over his stomach. The box they’d come from had been nudged precariously close to the desk edge. After setting those down, he tugged out his hair-tie and efficiently redid his ponytail so that it looked rather unfairly neat, given what he’d spent the last while applying himself at. He met Damen’s eyes and then looked down at the suit in his hands. Grey, tailored, but not from the top of the range. Damen got the distinct impression once more that he was being judged.

“Well,” Laurent said finally. And just as unfairly, his voice was his usual cool melodic tenor and not at all rough. “Since you’ll be dressed for it, there’s a university group coming in at ten o’clock for an expert tour that you can take.”

Damen swallowed, and nodded. Only very slightly jerkily. Of course it was the kind of thing they wouldn’t talk about. “Alright.”

Standing up with no little grace, Laurent picked up the tissues again to wipe himself below the waist, then tossed them into the paper pin on the way to collecting his clothes from the ground. He managed to return himself to full dress faster than Damen, jacket closing cleanly to hide the bulk of his hopelessly wrinkled—and lotion stained—shirt from view. Damen had a sudden moment of regret that he hadn’t left a mark, left some sign on that pale neck that couldn’t be buttoned away. Though, given how high that collar was, maybe it would have still ended up hidden after all.

Forcing himself to tear his eyes away, Damen looked down and corrected where he’d misbuttoned his own jacket. He was a little sticky in his pants where he hadn’t cleaned up before dressing. He'd have to give this suit a clean before he took it back to the office.

Laurent strode right over the top of Damen’s wet pile again on his way out, pulling open the door with a smooth snick of the lockless handle. Damen cast him one last took, straight-backed and put together, then turned away to face his desk. The small number of items on it were swept to the edges, the tube of lotion among them with its lid half open. The Middle-Period Patran dictionary looked a little crooked in the spine, but its cover was unbent. The right-hand drawer hung open.

From the doorway, Laurent spoke. “You finish at four today.”

Damen’s head snapped around. “Yes.”

“So do I.”

He cocked his head. “No you don’t. You have the directors’ meeting at four-thirty on Thursdays.”

Across the small office, Laurent’s lips curved into a minute smile. They were pink. Still a little unnaturally pink even, maybe. “They can do without me. I can finish at four today.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly. Damen felt the corners of his own mouth lift too. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you outside your office.”

Laurent licked his lips, the quickest flash of tongue. “Alright.”

  
  


At ten o’clock, Damen stood in the museum’s main lobby with a warm smile set on his face as the last of the university tour group was ushered through the revolving doors. They seemed a lively bunch, a few distracted in conversation but most looking around in genuine interest. He gave a wave to the stragglers joining them.

“Good morning,” he said, projecting his voice across the high-ceilinged hall. “How are you all today?”

There were a few titters of reply, a few ‘good’s and ‘thanks’s. One girl at the front, with a warm smile of her own, deigned to ask back to him, “And you?”

_ I nailed my boss over my desk and he’s taking me out tonight. _

“Splendid,” Damen replied brightly. “Shall we begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also known as the Naked Museum Desk Sex AU. Or the ‘I work in a museum and have an office hidden so far in the back of a building that when I got drenched on the way to work this morning I started taking my clothes off as soon as I got in, you barged in needing to ask urgent something of me without knocking’ AU that I decided should be an AU that exists. Inspiration courtesy of [betty-devere](http://betty-devere.tumblr.com)'s life.
> 
> (For artistic integrity I must admit nothing of the greater proceedings actually happened to [betty-devere](http://betty-devere.tumblr.com). Unfortunately.)
> 
> Find me on tumblr as [arsaces-of-akielos](http://arsaces-of-akielos.tumblr.com).


End file.
